Sara Bareilles - Poetry by dead men

^GBy the time you^A hear this, I'^Bmll be in the rear^Gview mirror ^GI'll even wear th^Aat green dress you l^Bmike so when I dis^Gappear ^GYou can turn around,^A one last loo^Bmk at the girl you ^Alost in time ^GYour turn to make up^A your mind ^Bmbetween the two^G roads ^GGo and take some m^Aore time, but^Bm me and mine must ^Ggo

^GI tried to wait it out^A, no more Can't^Bm find the man I was ^Awaiting for

^GI wanted to be your girl in a ^Awhite T-shirt Over ^Dcoffee, s^Gtirring in the cinnamon ^GWhile you r^Aead me ^Bmpoetry by d^Dead men ^GI wanted to be your girl with your ^Ahands on my skin ^{D G}Stirring in the cinnamon ^GWhile you r^Aead me ^Bmpoetry^D by de^Gad me^An (^BmWhile you read me ^Apoetry by dead men) W^Ghile you read me ^Apoetry by d^Bmead me^An

^GBy the time you ^Ahear this, who ^Bmknows where I might ^Gbe ^GSinging 'bout another n^Aear-miss love^Bm that ended inc^Gomplete ^GI was ready, but ^Ayou weren't So j^Bmump with your net from this bridge^D you burned ^GI wanted to tell you things A^Dll the secrets I've been keeping ^GI saw it in front of me,^A but then you just kept disappearin^Dg

^GA good dream, ^Aalmost ^BmNow I tell ^Ayour ghost

^GI wanted to be your girl in a ^Awhite T-shirt Over ^Dcoffee, s^Gtirring in the cinnamon ^GWhile you r^Aead me ^Bmpoetry by d^Dead men ^GI wanted to be your girl with your ^Ahands on my skin ^{D G}Stirring in the cinnamon ^GWhile you r^Aead me ^Bmpoetry^D by de^Gad me^An (^BmWhile you read me ^Apoetry by dead men) W^Ghile you read me ^Apoetry by d^Bmead m^Aen

^ALine after line, the words just ^Glive to remind The ^Dtwo of us, ^Awhat we could have been P^Goetry by dead ^Dmen ^AFire from ember, how could I ^Gmake you remember? With a ^Emturn of a phrase,^D would you t^Gurn to me if I say I ^Dstill want to be your ^Ggirl?

I still ^Dwant to be your g^Girl in a white T-shirt Over coffee, ^Gstirring in the cinnamon W^Ghile you re^Aad me poe^Bmtry by de^Dad men ^GI wanted to be your girl with your h^Aands on my skin^{D G}Stirring in the cinnamon ^GWhile you^A read me^D poetry by ^Gdead ^Amen (W^Bmhile you read me p^Aoetry by dead men) Wh^Gile you read me po^Aetry by ^Bmdead m^Aen